A sly “would you like a taxi?” from a furtive looking Pakistani just outside the exit to Pearson International (Toronto). I like his style – he has parked himself underneath a sign warning visitors to ignore taxi touts. When I respond in the affirmative (we need a cab) he spins on his heel and beckons us to follow him inside, in the opposite direction of the taxi rank just metres away. So we ignore him and step into the frigid air and join a line of puffy jackets and faux fur collars.

India supplies the world with its cab drivers, our Pakistani tout notwithstanding. Our Sikh knows the building address we threw at him, and we are instantly assured we are in the right place. With no fuss at all he quickly pulls out from the kerb and spears into the night. It’s midnight and we have been travelling for twenty four hours. More actually. But I got about ten hours sleep across the Pacific so I am feeling pretty good given the distance travelled and time that has slipped under our keel. Read more

Before the food cart drags itself up behind its vanguard aroma and I allow myself to be distracted by Jermaine Clement in ‘People Places Things’ I’ll jot a few notes in some sort of acknowledgment to penmanship I have neglected and which urgently needs resuscitating. And yes, that is ‘aroma’ which you read. It’s an experience of the senses after all, this fifteen hour haul through to Dallas, with Jefferson Airplane appropriately in my headphones, an aromatic hint of dinner, while the seat thrums in response to the airframe being pushed through that frigid air out there. We are on our way to Texas, a transit point on a journey through to Toronto. A year ago we were thawing out in Africa as we descended to the lush skirt of Kilimanjaro. Now we fly to colder climes and look forward to catching up with family. And seeing places I have not seen before. Read more